The Excalibur Murders

by J. M. C. Blair

  “As I told you, you are guests, not prisoners.”

  “Of course.”

  The keep was more convoluted than the outer parts of the castle. Corridors wound; steps ascended and descended. After a few yards they came to a large doorway. Plume stopped and turned to face them. “Go in.”

  “Go in?” Merlin seemed surprised. “You and your guards aren’t coming?”

  “Go in.” His face was stone.

  Again not having a choice, they went in.

  The room was octagonal, smaller than the Great Hall at Camelot. Dozens more torches burned, lighting it brilliantly. But there was no circulation; the stench of smoke was almost overpowering.

  A dozen people stood around the room, talking, reading official-looking papers or merely contemplating the queen’s serene majesty. It was late, after dark, an odd time for court business to be conducted.

  But Guenevere was there, seated in majesty on a gilded throne, much larger than Arthur’s fairly plain one. The throne was elevated above floor level; she looked down on her subjects. Next to it was a second, smaller one, presumably for Lancelot, but it was empty. There was no sign of Leodegrance either. She looked to the door as they entered and put on a diplomatic smile. Her ape rested at her feet and looked up lazily.

  “Merlin. Britomart.” Her Majesty was all cordiality. “And who is this young man? We recall seeing him at Camelot, but he was never introduced to us. And events were so hectic there.” She added this last in a tone so sweet it dripped with sarcasm.

  “This is my student and assistant, Colin.”

  “I see. We welcome you, Colin. As we do your older companions.”

  Merlin and Brit exchanged glances. She was playing with them. How long before the boom was lowered?

  “We trust you traveled well and happily?”

  Merlin had had enough. “What do you mean ‘we,’ Guenevere? You and your ape?”

  “Is it possible you do not comprehend the royal plural?”

  Brit took a step forward. “Why have we been brought here?”

  Guenevere was all innocence. “Did not my men tell you? I wish you to be my guests.”

  “They told us, all right-at the point of a sword. An odd kind of hospitality.”

  “Oh, dear.” She feigned dismay. “You have mistaken our intentions.”

  “Then why don’t you tell us what they are?” Merlin was growing annoyed with her.

  “But still, you must admit it is, shall we say, irregular, for you to have intruded on my domain in this way.”

  So she was going to play that game.

  “I am under the impression,” he said firmly, “that England is Arthur’s domain. And even so, he did write you to inform you we’d be coming-and on his business.”

  “England may be Arthur’s. Corfe is mine.”

  “Captain Dalley and his men might not see it that way.”

  “Irrelevant.” She brushed it aside. “What is this business my husband has sent you here to conduct?” Another sweet smile. “Does he want a divorce?”

  “You know perfectly well that if the king wishes to set his consort aside, he hardly needs permission. Especially since she never consorts with him.” Merlin looked around the hall at the various courtiers and functionaries. “The present matter is, I must tell you, quite confidential.”

  She stiffened slightly. “I see.”

  “A long day’s travel has tired us, Guenevere. We’ll talk business with you in the morning. I believe Captain Dalley is expecting us at the garrison. If you don’t mind, we’ll be going.”

  Her manner changed as she realized they weren’t about to be intimidated. “Weren’t you told, Merlin? I want you to be my guests.”

  “Is there room in the dungeon for all of us?”

  She sighed in an exaggerated way. “You shouldn’t be so suspicious. I want to know what Arthur wants. You, presumably, want to tell me.”

  "’Me,’ Guenevere? Shouldn’t that be ‘us’? Or has the royal plural suddenly become obsolete?”

  “I thought yours was a diplomatic mission, Merlin. Instead of diplomacy I find directness verging on rudeness.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” His manner dripped with irony. “We should never have had you abducted at sword point.”

  Unexpectedly, she laughed. “You will stay here at the castle. You may write to the garrison commander and tell him you are doing so. Rooms are being prepared for you. But I’m afraid they won’t be ready for a few minutes. We have another guest who is leaving tonight.”

  “You mean your father.”

  “My father, King Leodegrance, is in residence here, yes. But he is not the one I mean.”

  “Who, then?”

  “That is no concern of yours. You may use my library to write your note to the garrison. One of my men will take it. Your rooms will be ready shortly thereafter.”

  “Fine.”

  Guenevere stood regally and left the throne room. Merlin, Brit and Nimue found themselves alone, ignored by everyone else there. Brit looked around at them suspiciously. “Well, at least we’re not to be tortured.”

  “Yet.” Nimue was quite out of her depth.

  “Relax, Colin. Guenevere is an ambitious harridan, but she must know she could never survive a war with Arthur. Once she became aware the garrison knows we’re here, there wasn’t much chance she’d do anything to risk that,” Brit stated.

  A boy in his mid-teens entered the room and approached them. “I am Petronus. People call me Pete. Will you come with me, please? I’ll show you where there’s paper and ink.” He spoke English with a French accent.

  “Might we stop at our rooms first? I’d like to rest for a few moments.” Merlin wanted to try and catch a glimpse of the mysterious other guest.

  “The queen’s instructions were to take you to the library. ”

  “But I-”

  “Please, sir. Besides, it’s in the same wing as your rooms. You won’t have far to go.”

  There seemed no point arguing. If their rooms really were close to the library, they might get a look at the mystery visitor.

  The boy led them out of the throne room and into another arm of the castle. More dark stone; more torches. Nimue coughed. “Do people ever get used to the stench here?”

  The boy ignored this and kept walking.

  A few moments later they reached the queen’s library. An armed guard was there, presumably to watch them. The room was lit with candles, refreshingly, and not torches. There were fewer books than in Merlin’s study at Camelot.

  Just as they were going in, Brit glanced down the hall to see if she could tell where their rooms were. And there, in apparently heated discussion with Lancelot and Leodegrance, was Mark of Cornwall. As soon as he realized she’d seen him, he stepped into a doorway.

  So two of the suspects were together in the same place, under mysterious circumstances.

  Merlin wrote his note to Dalley. He asked that Colin be allowed to deliver it, and to his surprise, it was permitted. Nimue, accompanied by four armed guards, left for the garrison.

  “I never thought they’d allow that.” Brit was surprised, not unpleasantly. “Maybe she means it. Are we guests, not prisoners?”

  “I doubt if even Guenevere knows. Once she understood that our presence here was known to Arthur’s soldiers… It will take her a while to decide what to do with us.”

  Before they could say more, Petronus showed up with two other boys, and Merlin and Brit were ushered to a suite of rooms farther down the corridor. Torches burned and smoked everywhere.

  Petronus asked if there was anything they needed.

  “Yes. Some candles. These torches give off such a stench,” Merlin said.

  The boys looked at one another, and Petronus said, “I guess we’ve gotten used to it.”

  “And their light makes too much glare for comfort.”

  “Candles are in short supply, sir. But I’ll see if I can find some.”

  “Thank you.”

  The bo
ys left.

  Brit sat in an upholstered chair. “Did you see him?”

  “See who?”

  “Guenevere’s guest.”

  “No. For heaven’s sake, who is it?”

  She told him. And he froze. “This was supposed to be simple. Eliminate the wrong suspects and one will be left. But now Pellenore is more actively under suspicion than before. And this. How much more complicated is this going to get?”

  Brit grinned. “And how much more ominous? What can he be doing here?”

  “I can think of a dozen possibilities, all of them alarming. Arthur can’t possibly know.”

  “I’ve always hated politics, Merlin. This is why. War is so clean and simple. Mass slaughter. Bloodletting on a major scale. What could be more pleasant?”

  “I’m afraid war and politics get mixed up. Mark is a military leader and a king, remember? I’ll take the bedroom over there. Is that all right?”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. So. Guenevere is nearly out of candles. What do we make of that?”

  “Money must be tight. Which means she’s not interfering with the revenues from the port-at least not yet. I suppose that’s a sign of loyalty, or what passes for it with her.”

  Petronus was back. He presented, ostentatiously, two candles. “One for each bedroom.” His tone suggested this was a real luxury.

  “Thank you, Petronus.”

  “Please, sir, call me Pete.”

  “Pete, then. When is breakfast?”

  “Daybreak, sir.”

  "Fine. You’ll come and show us to the refectory?”

  “Gladly, sir.”

  “Excellent. Good night, then.”

  “Good night. Uh… sir?” The boy plainly had something on his mind.

  “Yes, Pete?”

  “You come from King Arthur’s court, don’t you? From Camelot?”

  Brit told him, “Yes, we do.”

  “Everyone says it’s the most wonderful place in the world. Will you tell me about it?”

  They exchanged glances. The boy might be useful. Brit assured him they’d do so if they had time and the opportunity arose. He thanked them effusively, promised to see them in the morning and left.

  Merlin chuckled. “Well, I think Colin can work on him while you and I fry the bigger fish.”

  She stood and stretched. “It’s like war after all. When you see an opening, you exploit it.”

  “Politics,” he said in a mock-confidential whisper, “is precisely the same.”

  Next morning the sun was blindingly bright and the air had a tinge of warmth. After weeks of premature winter it seemed odd. Merlin’s room looked out over the town and the harbor. He stood watching them and turning over events in his mind. Nimue was still asleep next to the fire.

  Petronus knocked and came in. “Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

  Merlin held a finger to his lips and pointed at Nimue, still deep in slumber. “Let’s go to the next room,” he whispered to Petronus. “Colin always takes a long time to wake up in the morning.”

  Brit was up, dressed and seemingly full of energy. The three of them stood at the window of their suite’s parlor, watching the French ship bob in gentle waves. Another vessel, a small frigate, had docked during the night.

  “You promised to tell me about Camelot,” the boy prompted.

  “So we did.” Merlin didn’t want him there. “After breakfast, all right?”

  “Yes, sir.” He was mildly disappointed; it showed.

  A few moments later Nimue joined them, yawning deeply. Petronus, smiling, evidently happy for their company, led them out of their wing and to the refectory. Even in bright daylight the halls were dark; torches burned and smoked.

  The room was long and rectangular. Several dozen people ate sausages, eggs and bread. There was a mix of French and native English accents. Portions were small. Merlin noted it; the queen was having money trouble, perhaps enough for her to enter a plot against Arthur. Even if she didn’t become sole monarch, an alliance with a successful usurper would be to her benefit.

  Guenevere and Lancelot were at the head table. Once again there was no sign of her father. She smiled when she saw the three of them and pointed to seats at another table to the left of her. They sat, and servants brought them food.

  Before they were finished, the queen and her man stood and crossed to them. Guenevere was evidently quite curious about what Arthur had in mind. Lancelot renewed his acquaintance with Brit and suggested they get together and exchange military gossip.

  Nimue excused herself from the table and found Petronus at another table in a corner of the hall. Merlin had told her about the boy and suggested she learn what she could from him. “My master says you want to hear about Camelot.”

  His face brightened. “Yes! Please.” He looked around self-consciously, but no one was paying any attention to them.

  “Why don’t we go off somewhere we can be alone and I’ll tell you all about it.” She gestured toward the door. “And you can tell me all about Corfe. I’ve never been here before, you know.”

  The day continued to be sunny; the air warmed up to an autumn-like temperature. Guenevere’s knights exercised and drilled in the courtyard on the north side of the castle. At mid-morning, Brit decided to join four of them who were wrestling and had sarcastically invited this woman knight to participate. Twenty minutes later she had beaten them all. After that, the others gave her more respect but avoided challenging her. She decided to run laps around the yard.

  Lancelot had begged off spending time with her, claiming there was some business he had to attend to. But not long after she beat the quartet of wrestlers, he joined her. “Hello, again.”

  Brit was out of breath from her run. “You said you’d be tied up all morning.”

  “Luck was with me.”

  “With us.” She smiled as cordially as she could manage. Merlin had briefed her on how to act with him-and on what she should try to find out.

  “I’m afraid I’m not much of a minister. But I’m Guenevere’s chief knight and therefore her chief advisor, so I get dragged into all kinds of discussions I can’t contribute a thing to.”

  She mopped her brow with a towel. “What was this one?”

  “Finance.” He made a sour face. “I’m only good at spending money.”

  “How much money can it take to run Corfe Castle?”

  He looked around, then lowered his voice slightly. “It isn’t just the castle itself. This is a royal household. There is a certain dignity to be upheld. It is not always easy.”

  She was going to comment on the meager food portions but decided it might be wiser not to. “Arthur gives her a certain allowance, doesn’t he? Or rather, the nation does. I mean, she is a member of the royal family.”

  “Arthur cannot always be relied on to send it when he should.” Again he looked around; no one was paying them much attention. “I miss France. Part of me would like to go back there to live.”

  “Being a queen’s-” she groped for a neutral word, “advisor can’t be a terribly hard life. Especially when the queen is so completely separated from the rest of England.”

  “Be careful what you say.” His tone was hushed and urgent. “You’d be amazed how many ears she has. Even for me.”

  "She doesn’t trust you? I thought the two of you were…” She let the sentence hang unfinished.

  “We are.” He said it a bit too quickly to be convincing. “I love her, and she loves me. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?”

  She was supposed to love her husband, but it seemed wise not to say so. “You know, I’m still hungry. Breakfast was… frugal, wasn’t it?”

  He moved very close to her and spoke softly. “I know a good inn in town. Let me take you there for your noonday meal.”

  “Why, Lancelot, I’d love that.”

  “And in the meantime, would you like to… wrestle?” His tone made clear that he was not talking about exercise.

  “Uh… no th
ank you. I’m spent.” She forced herself to smile. “But lunch would be lovely.”

  “Oh.” He sounded part puzzled, part disappointed. He looked up at the sun. “Two hours. Meet me here, not inside. ”

  “Of course.”

  Looking around suspiciously, he joined a group of knights who were fencing on the opposite side of the courtyard.

  Brit couldn’t help smiling. So there was trouble in Corfe, and it wasn’t just financial. And Lancelot wasn’t exactly being discreet. With luck, this would be easier than she’d expected.

  “So Arthur has a proposition for me?”

  Guenevere sat in serene majesty at a large wooden table in the library. Once again, Merlin wondered at the relatively few books there. He decided to play with her for a while.

  “I went for a walk on the roof earlier this morning. And imagine my surprise-there are ravens living here. They’re almost as tame as the ones I take care of at Camelot. It makes me feel quite at home.”

  “The townspeople say they’ve always been here. But I’ve never found them very friendly.”

  “One of them came right up to me.”

  She was growing testy, which pleased him. “So what does my husband have on his mind? Is he planning to send me the money he promised?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t mix in financial affairs, Guenevere. But I’ll ask him, if you like. Are you certain you remember the due date correctly?”

  “Quite certain. Merlin, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

  “Why, I came for the view. Corfe has the loveliest harbor in England.”

  “View, be damned. You said you’ve brought some kind of scheme from Arthur. I want to know what it is.”

  He clucked his tongue. “Really, Guenevere, you haven’t got the hang of diplomacy at all.”

  “Nothing connected with Arthur is diplomatic. He is trying to starve me out of the country. I’ve had to ask my father for a loan.”

  So that was what he was doing at Corfe-if she was being truthful. “How is your father? I don’t believe I’ve seen him.”

  “He is not feeling well. He has gout, and moreover, ocean travel never agrees with him.”

  “What a pity. But was that him we saw chatting with Lancelot and Mark last night?”